Losing Faith, Losing You
by Love Lost Contest
Summary: I watch you as you pull yourself away from me. Can't believe. I want to believe. How can I believe? You're making me doubt. I thought I knew you. I don't even know myself. AH, Entry for the Love Lost Contest.


**Title: **Losing Faith, Losing You

**Characters: **Bella

**Rating: **M

**Word Count: **9648

**Disclaimer: **I own nothing but the plot. No copyright infringement intended. Titles borrowed from _Aqualung _lyrics, a couple of lines borrowed from _Creed._

**Summary: **I watch you as you pull yourself away from me. Can't believe. I want to believe. How can I believe? You're making me doubt. I thought I knew you. I don't even know myself. AH, Entry for the Love Lost Contest.

**To see all entries in the "Love Lost" Contest, please visit the author profile: ****.net/u/2458839/Love_Lost_Contest**

**Warning: **Suicidal thoughts and other sensitive topics.

Special thanks to my two wonderful friends who helped me cut it down, fix the holes, and gave me confidence to enter.

**X x X x X**

_**-Longing To Touch You-**_

I stare at the blank page in front of me, not able to focus on anything going on around me. The teacher drones on and on about the Second World War; something I could not care less about. His voice fades into a gentle buzz around me, fueling my creativity by simply keeping me bored.

The pencil moves across the page, creating forms and shadows and new life. It is a part of my world – or rather, one aspect of it. The scene looks like a replica of the setting outside the classroom window, but the trees are fuller, the grass looks greener despite the pencil gray, and there is something lurking in the shade. Even I can't tell what it is, but I know it's there. It is wishful thinking. It is hope. It is the looming gray of reality.

My eyes sweep across the grounds beneath the window. It's a typical fall day, where everything almost seems fresh and green, but the dull brown is lurking in the shadows. A squirrel bounces across the lawn and shoots up the big oak tree. I wonder if it has a stash of nuts in there or if it's just looking around. What would a life as a squirrel be like? Are they social creatures, or do they not experience loneliness?

Life would be grand if there was no loneliness.

My thoughts are interrupted by a cough coming from a few seats away from me. I know that it isn't aimed at me – or at anyone for that matter – but I still instinctively turn my head towards the perpetrator.

The mop of auburn hair is unkempt as usual, made even worse as the boy absentmindedly scratches the crown of his head. My heart flutters at the mere sight of the fingers, slowly massaging the scalp. The idea of these fingers touching me, massaging me, warms my insides and makes my soul yearn for it to happen one day.

I can't tear my eyes away from the demi-god sitting a few rows ahead. My pencil moves across a new page as I marvel at the arch of his nose, the smooth curve his lips create on his profile, the strong jaw line, punctuated with his ear. Even his ear looks graceful and handsome.

_Perfect._ That is the only word able to describe him adequately.

I'm not really trying to draw him, but once I realize that that's exactly what I'm doing, I try to pay even more attention to his features. Every lock of hair must be exactly right. I cannot fail and make him look any less beautiful than he actually is.

In my focus to get the details right, I fail to notice the slow movement of his head as he looks around the classroom. I'm unconsciously drawing one end of my pencil along my bottom lip and thinking intently about the way the shadows frame his visage, when all of a sudden I see the wonderful deep forest greens of his eyes.

He is staring straight at me. I desperately want to look away, but his eyes hold me captive. A slow smile spreads along his lips, one corner arching higher than the other. It looks playful, and it's not the sneer I always expect to get, especially from someone like him. Someone who is so much better than me. His smile, however, is kind, and the corners of my lips awkwardly turn upwards in return as I shyly tear my eyes away from him.

My insides feel like they're boiling, the warmth teasing the nervous flutters. I fight the urge to look back, to see if he's still looking at me, and I do my best to focus at the drawing in front of me.

Another, much more genuine smile appears on my face: It is Edward, more perfect than I ever could have wished for, sharing a secret smile just with me.

**X x X x X**

_**-Need To Know If You're Letting Go-**_

The cafeteria is crowded, people chattering loudly, stuck in their own little bubble of friends. I make my way to an empty table and unpack the lunch I had prepared the day before; chicken salad and an apple.

"Hey, Bella," Alice greets as she sits down beside me. Her choppy raven black hair swishes around her face as she puts her tanned tray on the table. I wrinkle my nose at the sight of the oily pizza on her tray.

"Do you really intend to eat that?" I ask incredulously. I can almost feel the pimples growing on my chin, just at the sight of it.

"Yeah, well, I just have other things to do than prepare lunches for school, you know." She frowns at the pizza, but still cuts it up and begins to eat. "It's not that bad," she says between bites, but I don't believe her.

"That's beside the point. It is incredibly fattening," I try to reason, but I know Alice doesn't have to think about these things. Her metabolism is crazy.

"Eh, whatever." She shrugs before sipping on her coke. After gulping down the fizzy liquid, she adds, "What does it matter to you, anyway? You don't need to watch your weight."

I frown. "I just care, alright?" I don't want to start explaining to her how I used to be fat, and how I'm still terrified of becoming fat again. It is one of the many things I haven't told her yet. I like not weighing two hundred pounds and being able to run without panting after only ten minutes. Not to mention all the wobbly bits going all over the place.

Instinctively, I look down at my stomach area, still expecting to see the humongous lump of fat that used to reside there. Even though I see it's mostly gone, I still tentatively pull on my sweater, trying to create some distance between the material and my skin. My hand remains there, as usual; just one of the old habits ingrained in my head that it will hide my shame.

The last to appear at our table are Jasper and Edward. They casually walk into the room, quietly talking as they wait in line for crappy food. I surreptitiously watch Edward from the corner of my eye, watching how he somehow manages to choose all the healthy things on offer. There's a salad, an apple, whole wheat bread, and a bag of nuts and seeds. The one thing ruining his healthy diet is a can of coke. He takes his whole athlete status very seriously, but his weakness for soft drinks is not very well hidden.

"Hey, guys," Jasper says as they sit down. My stomach flips when Edward chooses the seat next to mine. I'm too nervous to even form words to greet them. My crush is newly developed, but it's grown rapidly over the last few weeks. I try to tell myself it's only because he's the shiny new toy, but sometimes there is the odd moment when I feel a connection. The current shooting from his long fingers whenever he touches me terrifies me and excites me all at once.

Edward's eyes sweep the table, smiling friendly at everyone, and I somehow manage to give him a timid smile in return.

"Hey, Bella?" Jasper begins from across the table. "I heard you have classes with Angela Weber. What's she like?" he asks, playfully wiggling his eyebrows.

"Um, she's cool. A bit quiet, but once you get to know her she's pretty awesome," I reply, intrigued by his question. "Why?"

"Oh, no reason," he answers as he winks at Edward, who returns his amused smile.

I frown, knowing that this could mean one of two things: Either Edward likes her, which would be bad for me, or Jasper likes her, which could be bad for Angela. Knowing Jasper, he probably just wants to play with her a bit.

Not wanting to waste my energy at focusing and wondering about why they wanted to know, I focus at eating and carefully chewing my food. My heart hurts a little bit, but I simply can't allow myself to think about it while sitting so close to the cause.

The lunch goes by pretty fast. It's the usual routine; people talking about inconsequential things while I absentmindedly revel in Edward's presence and self-consciously blushing at Jasper's looks of interest towards me. I notice every single time either one even so much as glances at me, and I mentally count and compare how often it happens. Today I'm disappointed, as the numbers are noticeably lower than the day before.

Perhaps it has something to do with Angela.

**X x X x X**

_**-Nothing Can Be the Same As It Was-**_

As soon as I come home from school, I rid myself of my damp parka and sloshing boots. The warmth of the house is welcoming, indicating that Charlie has just left for work. I walk upstairs and I put my cell on my night stand, before taking a seat by the desk. I fire up the computer, ready to pour out my heart and soul in some form or another.

The first thing I do once it starts is open MySpace, AIM and MSN, making sure that I am connected to the world. I go through the most recent comments and updates on MySpace, silently hoping that someone might have mentioned me. It doesn't happen, though.

Not that it ever does.

I click on the most recent file I'd been working on, preparing to continue my work. Most of the day is spent writing down idiotic words, strung together to make somewhat coherent sentences, none of which will ever be seen by anyone else. They know the meaning of lonely and what it is like to be shy. But they have hope that one day they get to have fun in the company of better chosen words.

At some point I start chatting with Alice as she needs help with her English homework. It isn't much but it helps making my evening a little less empty.

Eventually it's time for Alice to turn off the computer – her parents keep close tabs on whatever she's up to and have strict rules for her to follow – and I decide that I should probably go to bed as well. Fortunately, I don't have to worry about parental supervision or anything, since Charlie is working the night shift. I am used to my parents not being around to make me follow stupid rules, since Charlie is quite generous when it comes to covering the later shifts, and Renee... Well, she had plenty of late night activities to keep her otherwise occupied.

I sigh as I go through all the windows of chat rooms and documents, closing one by one. My MSN has been left untouched throughout the day, and once again I wonder why I bother. I say goodnight to the world via MySpace, then shut down the computer and get ready for bed.

The whole routine leaves me empty inside. I feel like the world is constantly reminding me that I don't have actual friends, that it wouldn't be any worse if I simply didn't exist. If it weren't for Alice, my life would be meaningless.

She's been my best friend since kindergarten, and one of two people with whom I didn't lose touch after I moved. Of course, even with her, the letters and phone calls became more and more infrequent as the years went by, but we still kept in touch. She kept me informed on all the gossip from this godforsaken town and mended my homesickness. Even when she was fifteen hundred miles away, Alice was the bright spot in my existence. She kept me sane.

I always hoped my life would go back to normal when I would return to Forks. The day my mom decided that we were going to move to Phoenix, Arizona – just the two of us – was the worst day of my life. It didn't start out bad, not at all, but I was no longer the same person when I returned to Forks six years later at the age of sixteen.

The town used to mean life for me. It meant spending time with friends, laughing and playing silly games, eating at a neighbor's house and having sleepovers. I knew just about every kid in town – well, the ones in my class, anyway – and walking in unannounced next door was what we did. Everyone knew me and I felt like the life of the party.

Everyone loved me.

Maybe it was naïve of me to expect things to fall back to normal once I'd returned.

I snuggle into my pillow, hoping sleep will come soon, while knowing it won't. I hate the hollowness within me and I desperately try to fill it by coming up with crazy scenarios, each one more clichéd than the other, the only proof that I do indeed have hope. Hope that someone will want me, that someone will love me. However, my feelings are conflicted between my teenaged hormonal desires and the longing of being with someone, heart and soul.

**X x X x X**

_**-Tied Up In Ancient History-**_

Sleep has barely caught me when I'm roused by the offensive beeping sound of my phone. It's a text. From _him_. I don't have to look at it to know it's him. He is the only one who contacts me this late in the evening. I also know exactly what's on his mind.

My heart thumps in my chest as I reach out for my phone.

_**R U sleeping?**_

I think about not answering him – I _always _think about ignoring him – but I am weak. I love that he pays me attention even though I'm boring and not as cute as the other girls at school. So I answer him, but try to be uninviting.

_**Yes**_

His reply is instant.

_**Then how can u answer? Sleep-type much? ;)**_

A small smile spreads on my lips and I feel good for a moment. He doesn't even need to be in the room to make me smile.

_**Lol, you woke me up, you idiot ;)**_

I snuggle into my pillow, the phone safe in my hand, ready for another text.

_**I'm lonely, wanna come over?**_

My heart sinks. It's always hard to decide whether I want to or not. Because I always kind of want to, but I know I shouldn't. It thrills me that he's showing me interest, but I've grown too scared of guys showing me interest. There _must_ be an ulterior motive, and with _him_, I'm almost positive he believes I'm easy, despite me backing out whenever we've crossed the invisible line before. He just somehow _knows_ I'm willing, even though I'm scared.

_**Not tonight, I'm really tired**_, I reply, even though typing every single letter is a battle.

_**If u want, I can come over to ur place?**_

He knows exactly what buttons to push and it drives me mad. Several voices are drowning each other out in my head, but Hope is the loudest one, convincing me that he might just want to come over and cuddle. Such things have happened in the past, albeit very long ago. Back when we were friends. Back when we thought the original idea of Joey and Dawson's platonic relationship had been based on our everlasting friendship.

Everlasting, indeed.

_**Okay.**_

**X x X x X**

_**-You're Breaking My Heart-**_

The morning after is always the same.

I am always disappointed in him and I hate myself a little more.

He came over as promised, joking about doing the nasty since the Chief wasn't home. I blushed but thought that maybe tonight would be the night. We went to my room and I sat awkwardly on my bed as he rummaged through my room – it is always the same ritual, the same game of pretend that we're not thinking about doing it.

There was some comment made about Angela Weber and I instantly lost my nerve. The same old insecurities came flooding back and I wondered if he wanted me or if he just wanted sex. It is always so difficult to read him, and it's even harder when I'm so blinded by my own want of being wanted.

I faked a yawn, told him I was going to sleep and laid down on the bed. I wanted him to go away, but I have kind of a problem being confrontational. I just hoped he would get the hint.

I always hope he'll get the hint.

He made a joke about going to bed with me, but I knew he was serious. I truly wanted him in my bed, but not the way he wanted to be in it. I told him 'whatever' and turned to face the wall. I listened to him undress and I felt him crawl under the covers and it relieved me when I noticed he hadn't removed his boxers. Maybe he wasn't too cocky after all.

The smile emerging was quickly wiped away as I felt his hands descend to places he wasn't privy to. I pretended to sleep, with my deep, even breathing and light snoring, but I felt him getting hard against the back of my thigh. He dry-humped me as I battled the moans of pleasure his fingers were giving me. I wanted more but it was just so wrong. Eventually, I turned to my stomach, pretending to be stone lost in slumber.

He finally got the hint.

The pain gripping my insides when he left almost kept me awake, and I almost wish it had.

My dreams consisted of nothing but his gentle touches turned mean and ravaging despite my protests. It wasn't until assented that I finally felt the love in his actions.

When I woke up, my heart felt emptier than ever before.

**X x X x X**

_**-She Was There Too, Drowning and Wanting It Over-**_

Some days are better than others. Some days I don't feel sad or sorry for myself. Some days I even feel happy.

It's those other days I fear.

The days when it's a struggle to get out of bed and when every step is like climbing a mountain. The days when I feel myself walking in slow motion and I'm physically exhausted for no apparent reason.

This is one of the days when I'm home alone and I can feel it. I feel the tears buzzing underneath my skin and in my heart, waiting to come out, but I can't let it, because then the world would see. I don't care that I am alone and have privacy; I can't let them out and lose the battle.

The TV is on and so is the radio – my lame attempts at filling the house with artificial life. I put the TV on mute so I could listen to the music, but the vivid colors of some comedy show lights up the living room.

I'm not really doing anything, mostly just sitting in the living room and doodling on a torn piece of paper, singing along to the radio. I had planned on studying for the spring finals, but not much has happened in that department. The mellow air outside is tempting me, but I can't leave the safety of the house.

I've felt the buzzing all day, but I'm still refusing to let it out. I hate feeling weepy, so even though I'm alone and no one can see me, I still stubbornly hold everything in, at least until tomorrow. For once in my life, I want to be strong.

A slower song starts playing on the radio and I gently start humming along, not really noticing the lyrics. It isn't until the chorus comes on that I recognize it, and before I realize it, my eyes start stinging with frustrated tears, already pissed off for being kept inside for so long.

_Hold me now, I'm six feet from the edge and I'm thinking, maybe six feet ain't so far down._

My voice breaks as I coo the words and my mind flies off to places I don't want it to go. My fingers find the familiar scars on my left arm, only feeling the scar-tissue of the small burns, while knowing of the three pink lines stranded above.

I wish my heart didn't hurt so much and I wish I wouldn't wonder about death, but at times – like tonight – I wish I had the guts to go through with it.

I wish I could sever this invisible chord attaching me to this life.

Without knowing how I got there, I find myself sitting on the floor in the middle of the kitchen, sobbing into the empty air, only thinking about the lyrics. I'm frantically trying to search for a different meaning than the one reverberating through my mind.

_I'm six feet from the edge..._

A car drives by, its headlights filling the kitchen with momentary brightness, and my eyes are drawn to the glint of one of the stainless steel knifes, sitting in a knife stand on the counter.

Approximately six feet away.

_But maybe six feet ain't so far down..._

Slowly, I walk to the counter, wondering if I could actually go through with it. I grab one of the smaller knives, inspecting the edge. It's one of the ones my dad uses to gut the fish he catches. A pang of desperateness runs through my heart, a cry for help.

It's not the first time I think about taking my life, but it's probably the nearest to actually doing it I've gotten. The knife is cold in my hand, surprisingly light. The tears are drying on my face, creating an uncomfortable sensation as a cool breeze enters through the window. I play with the blade, trailing the sharp edge along the blue lines of my wrist. The scratchy feeling of it is enticing, but I wonder if I have the strength to cut deeper. As ironic as it may sound, I don't think I can handle the pain – the _physical_ pain.

The knife runs up my arm and I stop at the faint pink lines lying right across my arm, hiding among the faint freckles next to my elbow. Only one of the scars is noticeable, but I can see the others screaming at me. The blade runs along them, slightly irritating the skin.

It's like I'm not thinking when I apply more pressure, but it stings and reminds me of a time I don't want to relive, so I drop the knife as if it caught fire. I know better than this and I know harming myself won't help anything. No one will notice, anyway.

However, I hope that just maybe someone will care and save me from myself, before it comes too much for me to bear. I'm terrified that one day I'll forget myself and go too far.

I turn off the radio and TV, turning off the few lights lit downstairs, before making my way upstairs and to my room.

My phone chirps, indicating a new text, and I know without a doubt who it is.

_**What R U doing up so l8, naughty grl? ;)**_

I turn off the ceiling light and peep out the window. His shadow moves around his room before settling next to his window, giving me a wave when he notices me.

_**Studying. Just getting ready for bed, u?**_

Not wanting to be seen by the peeping Tom from across the street, but still wanting to make my actions kinda obvious, I open up my closet and change to my tank top and pajama bottoms in shadow of its doors. The thrill of the play is enough to make me forget about the pain, even though something in the back of my mind is screaming at me that it will only make it worse.

_**me 2. Y do U always hide when UR changing? I wanna C!**_

I smile slightly at the response and quickly reply.

_**Why do YOU hide when you change?**_

It's not that I want to see him, specifically, but the fact that he's flirting with _me_ makes my heart flutter and elicits a secret tingle down below. It makes me forget about our entire history. It makes me forget everything.

_**I dont hide! Look out ur window ;)**_

I can't _not_ look so I pull away the curtains, still trying to hide, even though he'll know I'm looking.

He's facing my window and it feels like he's looking straight at me as he slowly removes his clothes, one article at a time. I find myself wishing I was closer so I could see his stomach more clearly, but when he removes his boxers, all thoughts leave my head. I just stare at him... at _it_...

Because he's _hard_...

It's not the first time I've seen it, not even the first time I've seen it hard, but it's always just as exciting and terrifying. In the past year since my return from Arizona, opportunities have risen, both welcomed and dreaded. It's always the same.

Eventually, I notice him fiddling with something in his hands, and a second later my phone buzzes.

_**Do U like?**_

I panic and back away from the window, and try to lie.

_**Like what?**_

The reply is instant.

_**Common, I know ur watchin. Did the show get u excited?**_

I don't want to admit that it did, afraid he'll take it a step further.

_**I don't know what you're talking about. I was brushing my teeth.**_

I look back out the window and see that he's walked away slightly, but I can still see his silhouette as he strokes himself.

_**If U want, U can come over & take a better look ;)**_

After everything tonight, I can't handle his games and the endless question of if he only wants to use me. Emotionally and physically exhausted, I crawl into bed and ignore his text. I lie, waiting for sleep to claim me, wishing the useless tears would dry up and my heart would lighten up, but the stone in my stomach keeps shifting and changing shape. It tells me to answer him, or to go over, to maybe check if he can offer me some warmth in exchange for pleasure.

That thought alone fuels another round of fresh tears and I turn to face the wall. My phone buzzes twice more but I ignore it.

I find myself wishing for Edward and his calming strokes. The innocent crush has flourished into a thorny rose, and I wonder if he will ever feel the same way about me as I do about him.

**X x X x X**

**-I Want To Fight, Afraid To Fight, Why Don't I Fight?-**

Something gently hits my bedroom window, rousing me from my almost slumber. At first I think it's only the bare branches of the oak tree standing outside my window, but it somehow sounds different. The noise repeats, and I'm definitely sure it's not the branches.

I stand up and walk towards the window. My room is cold, so I wrap my arms around my torso, desperate to keep some of the warmth from my comforter. As I peek outside, I see someone standing beneath my window. My heart beats faster, noticing the familiar outlines.

A gust of ice cold January air wafts through my window as I open it and outside, whispering, "What do you want?" loudly enough for him to hear.

"I wanted to see you," he whispers back.

"Why?" I ask, my slumbered mind hoping that this might be a midnight rendezvous.

"I just wanted to see you!" he iterates. "Can I come up?"

I instinctively look behind me, almost expecting to see my father, despite knowing that he's on the night shift. I know what might happen if I let him in, but I also know that the hormonal part of me wants exactly that to happen. That is the thing that scares me – that I won't say no.

My brain battles my heart, and eventually I nod. "Yeah," I whisper down to him.

He prepares to climb the tree, but I laugh at him. "Just use the front door, no one's home." He smiles up at me before running around the house.

As I hear him open and close the front door, I realize that it might have been a very stupid idea to let him know that Charlie's away. Now I have no excuse in case I want to back out. Knowing me, I'm probably going to want to back out. I can't just pretend to sleep every time he takes it too far, can I?

Eventually he reaches my bedroom, and he smiles when he enters.

"Hey," he greets as he closes the door.

"Hey," I say in return. I'm nervous and excited all at once.

He stares at me like a predator, slowly walking towards me. I feel like he can see through me, see how much of a wimp I actually am. I know exactly what he wants. It's always the same. He's been trying for it for more than a year now, and even though I'm secretly willing, I've been outwardly a coward. The only things stopping me are my stupid hopes and expectations.

While wanting him in every way I can get, I've always hoped for losing my virginity with someone who openly cares. Someone who'll kiss me just to kiss me; someone I can be sure would not throw me away afterwards. With him, I can't be sure. I know him better than anyone, and I regret the day he crossed the line and took our friendship away. And I regret being the fool who is still falling for it.

He finally reaches me, and he's standing enticingly and uncomfortably close. His moss green eyes bore into mine and I lose myself in the yellow speckles in his left one. He ducks his head and he breathes into the nape of my neck. "I want you, Bella," he whispers.

I shiver and a rush of tingles settles between my thighs. I feel his hand ghost over my stomach and to my backside, gently cupping my butt. My breath hitches, and I will myself not to move, but as soon as he angles his face more towards mine, I instinctively move to meet him. His breath fans over my face and I can taste his breath. I can't move, terrified of screwing things up, but he doesn't need me to.

His lips close around mine, and my heart soars at the feeling. His kisses are hard to come by.

My hands tentatively move up his stomach and I don't object when his kiss becomes more wanting. At some point our tongues are touching, and despite finding it rather exciting, there's just something a bit off about it.

When he extracts himself from my mouth and starts kissing my neck, I notice that his hands are moving upwards beneath my top. I'm conscious of the fact that he's touching my stomach and it's now exposed, and it brings a dread to my gut. It's not the first time he's seen me topless, but it's always as uncomfortable.

His hands reach my breasts and playfully squeeze them, and I instantly decide that if I don't go through with this, I will burst. I know from experience that even though it breaks my heart, I'm always left frustrated after every one of our rendezvous, and now I just want to get through with it. Maybe he won't move on, maybe he'll decide that I'm worth staying with once he's had his fun.

I moan, and he quickly drags my top over my head. His hands go back to my hips as he dips his head to lick my nipple.

As much as I hate the power he has over me, I still revel in the fact that he is showing me this attention. He wants me. Right now, he wants to be with me, take my body and mark me as his. And even though I know I'll hate myself in the morning, tonight I am willing to be his.

The dread in my gut grows bigger, and once more I am tempted to back out, but this is it. I know that this is my chance to get the experience I lack, the experience I want. I don't care that my head is screaming at me, reminding me that I should rather wait for Edward. I repress the voice, reminding it that Edward has shown no signs of wanting me this way; that Edward is and always will be just a friend.

It irritates me how much I seem to be talking myself into this, so I square my shoulders and decide not to think anymore. Thinking is bad. Doing is good.

I allow him to gently guide us towards my bed, and once I'm down, he removes his shirt and starts working on the strings of my pajama bottoms. Once they're loose, he works his way up again, focusing on my breasts again. I feel him slowly pulling down my pants, and I'm self-conscious again.

His fingers work themselves down my panties, slowly rubbing. It feels good and a moan escapes my lips. I'm scared, but my curiosity overpowers me. I spread my legs a bit, allowing him more access, but he stops and moves away from me.

He sits back at an awkward angle in the bed, against the wall. His smile is slightly creepy, as he unbuttons his jeans and pulls them down.

"Have you ever sucked dick?" he asks, his smile looking almost like a sneer.

I shake my head. "No," I whisper. I know that he's well aware of that I haven't.

"Do you wanna try?"

He's rubbing himself through his boxers, the bulge evident and slightly scary.

I cringe. "I dunno…" I whisper again. The idea alone is icky, and I don't know if I can actually do that. "I don't think I'd be good at it," I say awkwardly.

"Come on, I'm sure you're good," he says as he grabs my hand and guides it to his groin. The feeling of him is foreign, though I've felt it before. My hand tingles, and I'm afraid to move it, even though I know that's what he's after. I don't need to move it however, since he does it for me. We've done this enough times so he's sure to know that I always need to be pushed.

"Please, babe, try it for me," he pleads, his eyes hooded. He moves closer and starts kissing my neck again, and the scent of him totally intoxicates me. "I really want your mouth on my dick, Bella," he whispers, just as he captures my mouth again. His tongue is slightly sloppy, and I'm trying to decide whether to focus on the kissing or the humping in my hand.

"Don't you wanna try?" he breathes into my mouth.

"Okay," I whisper reluctantly, just as he kisses me again.

"Thanks, babe." His smile widens, and he's quick to yank the boxers down.

I look at his erection, once again scared as hell that it won't fit. Not in my mouth, not… down there. I bite my lip in anxiety, wondering how to start.

He grows impatient, and grabs my hand again to stroke himself with. The veins create a strange texture in my palm, which both creeps me out and intrigues me.

"Come on, Bella. What are you waiting for?" He pulls me closer to him, trying to guide my head to his crotch. I don't like how he's rushing me, but I tell myself over and over again that I want this, that he's giving me something I've wanted for a long time.

Eventually I decide to go for it. I grab a hold of it and guide it to my mouth. The sensation is weird, and I'm struck by the faint smell of pee. I try to focus on what I'm doing, but my head is filled with random thoughts – wondering if he likes it, if I'm doing it right, if my wobbly bits are showing, and if I remembered to do my homework from the day before.

At some point he decides he wants more, and I'm finally relieved from this awkward blow job. My jaw is starting to ache and I feel like I've done nothing but move my head up and down.

His hand reaches for my breast, and he guides me to lie on my back. He starts kissing me again, so I almost don't notice as he pulls down my panties. A finger trails down and pushes into me. It feels so good and I want more, and I don't care if I'm scared and probably not emotionally ready for the implications. I just know that I've gone this far and I want to go further. With him or whomever wants me. I feel like I need this to fully grow or fully be aware of my existence. There's also the fact that he's the only one who's ever shown me the slightest interest in the sex department, and I'm terrified that if I back out once again, he won't return.

As he gets comfortable between my legs, ready to push in, a sudden thought enters my mind.

"Condom!" I croak out. A floodgate of what-ifs litters my mind, and I can't help but think of babies and sexually transmitted diseases, either one a very possible, if not probable result.

"Um," he mutters, confused. "I don't have one. Do you?"

The dread in my stomach clenches around my insides. "No…" I whisper. I'm terrified that this is where it ends, that we can't go on from here.

"Does it matter?" He starts nibbling on my neck again, his dick brushing up against my upper thigh. I wonder if he knows how much that clouds my judgment, how much better he can influence me when he's so alluring.

My mind is racing with the possibilities, weighing the pros and cons, and there is a big red flag screaming at me that I shouldn't continue without any birth control, with nothing to protect me. It's bad enough that I'm setting myself up emotionally, but physically, that's just dumb. His dick is closer to my entrance, and he's brushing my nipple with his index finger, lightly playing with it. "I really want you," he whispers. "Don't leave me hanging, babe."

And that's it. I don't leave him hanging.

"Okay," I breathe as I shift my pelvis to meet his. I briefly whisper that I'm a virgin, reminding him of something he already knows, and he just nods and lets out a relieved sigh as he pushes himself into my opening. It's a weird sensation, but I don't have time to think about it, as he pushes further and further in. I start to feel uncomfortable, and I try to shy away from him, but he doesn't stop pushing. "Please," I whisper, and finally he withdraws.

I relax, but it's too soon, because he drives back in with more force, more speed. I wonder if he even heard my pleading, or if he cared. Maybe he misunderstood my plea for him to stop. It hurts and burns and I feel like it's not the way it's supposed to be. It isn't pleasurable. It isn't sexy. It isn't good.

My eyes start stinging, and I will myself not to cry. I can't cry in front of him. I can't let him see that I'm a pansy. I wanted to go through with this, and so I shall. I clutch onto his shoulders for dear life and listen to his grunts as he pushes again and again into me, going faster and faster. At some point it becomes slightly pleasurable, but the burning is still there. I feel like something is building up within me, and it feels like I'm about to burst, but it's still so far away.

"I'm coming, are you?" he grunts.

"Yeah." I nod into his neck, feeling like I might be close, but I might not be. I'm probably not as close as I should be.

"Good, I'm so close," he whispers into my hair. "You feel so good."

He continues to hump, and I try so hard to feel better, to feel hot and excited, but now I just want it over and done with. My heart is racing and aching, and I wish I could turn back time and tell him to go home. I try to fake my enthusiasm and match his grunts with moans, willing him to finish up already.

"Do you want me to pull out, babe?" he asks in a strained voice.

I have a fraction of a second to answer, and my first instinct is to answer in a way that might please him.

"No."

I feel him convulse above me and he tenses up. A moment later he relaxes and collapses onto me. I breathe in his scent, and even though I like it, it's not quite right. It isn't as good as I had remembered it to be.

The weight of him on me feels good, comforting, and for a second I feel like it was all worth it.

My bubble bursts when he moves and sits up.

"Can I use your bathroom to clean up?" he asks nonchalantly, and he might as well be asking to clean his hands after a messy science project.

"Yeah," I choke out, hoping I sound normal.

He quickly puts on his boxers and leaves the room. I wait until I hear the door to the bathroom close, before I gasp in pain, both emotional and physical. Whenever I do stuff with him, I know in the back of my mind that it's stupid, but this is probably the first time it has ever hurt this much. The only thing preventing the tears is the fact that I can't allow myself to feel all of it just yet; I cannot let him see me like this. As I wait for him to come back, I get dressed again, conscious of the fact that I'm bleeding between my thighs.

I feel sticky and gross and ugly.

Fortunately, he doesn't hang around in the bathroom, and once he's back, he quickly gets dressed. He doesn't look embarrassed or regretful, the smile on his face mocking me. No words are exchanged as he gets his things, and I'm sure that we are not in the same frame of mind. I follow him to the front door and see him out, the cold wind outside matching the frostbites in my heart. I close the door without so much as a goodbye from him.

I don't know how I manage to function for a second longer, but somehow I make my way to the bathroom, turn on the shower, and get in, without even taking off my clothes. It doesn't matter anyway.

My tears mix with the water pouring from up ahead, and my sobs drown in the mild buzz of the falling streams. I sink down and bury my face in my knees, wondering how I always continue to be this stupid, simply for the thrill of being wanted.

**X x X x X**

_**-Nothing Can Be the Same As It Was-**_

The alarm on my nightstand blares its annoying beeping sound into the cold atmosphere of the bedroom. I tiredly blink my dry eyes, probably for the first time in hours. The night was too long, too lonely. Ancient, repetitive and dangerous thoughts come to a halt as I know it's time to face the world.

_It's not like I'll ever go through with it_, I sigh internally.

I hoist myself into an upright position, but then I remember that I've already taken a shower. A shiver goes through me, as I'm once more reminded of the night. Suddenly I feel dirty again, and my crotch is sore and tingling. I self-consciously put my arms around myself, as if I'm trying to hide my nakedness to the invisible being peeping at my soul.

Without another thought, I grab my stuff and run to the bathroom. My discarded wet clothes from last night are still in a heap on the floor. A sharp pang of panic shoots through me as I wonder briefly if Charlie might have seen them, but then I remember that he's still not home. I quickly try to squeeze the moisture out of them and then throw them into the hamper.

The second shower of the day is a lot more calming than the first one. It still doesn't stop me from rubbing my skin raw again, desperately washing away the filth and the guilt. Over and over again I wonder why I feel like this, why I regret my decision when I made it so willingly last night. Why do I feel so cheap, so used?

My thoughts wander to him and his thoughts. I wonder if he thinks about me, if he regrets this as much as I do. Does he think about the night as some kind of accomplishment, or does he regret that he went to my place, rather than search out someone hotter, more willing, less awkward? Will he act differently at school, knowing he took my virginity, or will he act as nothing happened? Will I ever be able to consider him as a friend again?

The growing dread in my stomach twitches, reminding me that I will indeed need to face him today.

I finish washing up and get ready for school. As I sit down to eat my cereal, I hear someone enter through the front door, and I instantly panic, thinking Charlie will see the difference in me. They say that girls change once they lose their virginity, right? However, what could possibly be the factor making it known to the world that a piece of the anatomy has been broken? I pray to God that Charlie won't be able to tell.

"Mornin', Bella," Charlie grunts as he walks into the kitchen and to the laundry room, where he hangs up his holsters.

"Morning," I squeak, trying to hide my nervousness by shoving my mouth full of Cheerios. I struggle to chew the dry rings, which have barely had the chance to soak in the low-fat milk.

When he turns back around, he gives me a once over, and I have to remind myself to keep chewing and not seem so aware of his stare. He sighs and moves on, and I instantly relax. The harsh texture of the Cheerios scratches the inside of my throat as I try to swallow, making me cough as soon as the mouthful is down. Charlie awkwardly pats my back, stroking it slightly when I stop hacking. The gesture is foreign, but it settles my nerves.

Even though Charlie can sometimes be a bit distant, I know he'll always have my back.

**X x X x X**

_**-I've Seen You Wondering Why-**_

I stare at back of the person sitting right in front of me, my mind a million miles away. I'm barely even aware of what class I'm in, let alone what the teacher is going on about. The blank page in front of me is left untouched, the pencil idly swinging back and forth between my fingers. The dread in my stomach is fluctuating, constantly reminding me of why it's there, and resulting in mild panic attacks every few minutes.

My thoughts are stuck, focused on Jasper, fearing the moment of seeing him. The night is on replay at the back of my mind, every detail magnified and made more horrible. The more I think about the recent events, mixed with old feelings of disappointment from previous sessions, the more hatred starts building up within me. Not only at him for the power he has over me, but also at myself for always falling for his charm and for being so desperate that I didn't allow myself to wait. And I hate that I will inevitably have to see the doctor about my little mistake.

"Hey, are you okay?" Edward's voice startles me back to awareness and I'm suddenly super aware that his hand is gently stroking my shoulder. I look up into his eyes, and my heart is jolted awake, battling the cold vines of the night.

"Yeah, I'm fine, thanks. Just things on my mind, I guess," I answer, my voice timid and soft.

"Want to walk with me to lunch?" he asks, his concerned gaze leaving me wondering if maybe he does care about me. As more than a friend, I mean. Care about me the same way I care about him.

"Sure," I breathe out and accept his arm to support myself. His sweater is soft and my fingers dig into it and I allow myself to take in the scent of my companion. It calms me and suddenly the idea of seeing Jasper again isn't as frightening.

**X x X x X**

_**-This Feels Like the End-**_

I lie in the damp grass in my old backyard, watching the airplanes flying up ahead. The sky is dark and ominous, the clouds creating eerie shapes around the half moon. As a plane crosses unusually fast, I wonder if people these days would even notice a shooting star if they'd ever happen. Do people even realize how many tons of metal and thousands of people are actually defying gravity at any given moment? I can count at least ten planes, which all must carry a couple of hundred people, and even more luggage than I can count.

The thought alone makes me shiver.

It is all so much bigger than me.

As my eyes scan the stars, trying to remember the constellations, I feel his presence. The ache within dulls a little, but I put up the old wall I've constructed over the years. The one that tells me to run, to hide, to stay distant.

It's been a couple of years since I fled this place and went to college. I've done my very best at avoiding Jasper, so I've only caught fleeting glances at him over the years. Only three people from my past are a part of my present: Charlie, Alice, and – only just recently added to these ranks – Edward.

Alice was the one who stayed in touch with the rest of our classmates. Sometimes I would hear from them, chat with them through Facebook, but it was all superficial. I've met up with Jasper a few times since graduation, but he was still the same. Twice he tried to seduce me while he was in a serious relationship, trying to convince me they were almost over. Even though I didn't give in, I know that other girls did. For years I felt sorry for Angela, but apparently she knows, and all I can think about now is how she can possibly put up with it.

"What are you doing?" he asks in hushed tones and I wish for the friend he used to be. Back from before everything became about sex.

"Watching the stars," I answer honestly, quietly. I never stop my gazing, because I don't want to look at his face. I don't want to discover too soon if he's only here for his selfish purposes.

He doesn't say anything, but comes and lays down next to me. We lie, our arms touching, not uttering a single word. His hand reaches for mine, our fingers entangle and I know he's here. He's my childhood friend Jasper.

The moon blows away the veil of clouds, gracing us with its cold light.

"I've missed you," I whisper. The knot in my stomach loosens and I relax. Maybe everything is finally coming together like it should.

Jasper grabs me and positions me so my head is lying on his chest. I unconsciously start trying to match my breath with his, but I can't. He breathes too fast and I feel like I'm hyperventilating if I try. Instead I revel in the comfort I remember he used to give me when we were ten and lay beneath the stars like now.

Jasper was my other best friend. My _guy_ best friend. Alice was the one I did the girly stuff with, Jasper was the one who balanced her out. While Alice kept me informed on who was dating whom or whose parents were getting divorced, Jasper called me simply to tell me about his days or to make me laugh.

Maybe if I hadn't moved away from Forks back when I was ten, I wouldn't have struggled with my relationship with him. I know that we are alike in many ways, and if I hadn't been so timid and scared of being burnt, I'd not only have let him explore my body, I would have offered it to him with pleasure.

Maybe if I hadn't moved away, he wouldn't have become this untrustworthy character he is today.

"What happened to you, Jasper?" I ask as my eyes find the familiar stars of Orion's belt.

"What do you mean?" His fingers lazily drag through my hair and now his affectionate moves merely irritate me. We can't go back so easily. Not after years of no contact and only a handful of damaging moments. Not after two years of playing cat and mouse in high school.

The words come rushing out, the pent up anger flaring. "We used to be best friends. We talked about stuff, we played video games, we even talked about our crushes, but still you were the most terrifying person in my life," I admit, struggling to hold back the tears. My voice wavers as I continue, "You manipulated me and played around with my feelings – pushed my insecurities."

I extract myself from him because the mere contact is making my flesh buzz in betrayal. "You knew almost everything about me and you used it to your advantage! Those are the times that have stood out from our time together, even though I know there are many good memories lurking around."

The stars hold my gaze, as I'm too fractured to look at Jasper. For a long moment there's deafening silence, before I finally whisper, "I hate that I hate you, but I do. You were my best friend, and now I hate you."

Tears slide down my face, and I know he's aware of them because I feel them drop to his shirt. His long fingers keep stroking my hair and once again I wish he'd be someone else. I don't want him bringing me fake comfort.

"I'm sorry," he whispers. It's not much, and I sense the sincerity in his pained voice, but three words will hardly undo the years of pain and confusion.

It means the world to me that he's apologizing, but how can that be enough? I have been broken by many but my involvement with him was by far the worst. My every move so far has been made with him in mind. Every guy has been measured up and compared to him, and ultimately doubted because of him. Those little words would mean nothing if I didn't know beyond a doubt that this is coming from the old Jasper.

And yet it's not enough.

I sit up, my back facing him, and I struggle to compose myself. I'm tired of the tears shed because of him, yet they never seem to stop.

"I didn't know…" he starts, but his words are drowned in the night.

I scoff, looking around at his frowning face. "You knew, Jasper. You might have been naïve and careless, but you knew I didn't whole-heartedly want any of it. I mean, hell, it took almost two years to close the deal!" My voice is raised, the fury trembling the chilled air. "You knew, and you still know what you're doing, and I don't care what anyone says, you are still hurting the people around you! You're not a teenager anymore. It's time to face the music and act your age! If you truly love someone, you keep it in your pants for them, and if you don't love them, the least you can do is stay away and let someone else in!"

I don't know if I'm still talking about myself, or if I'm trying to save his current girlfriend. I'm just sick of him and I think I've finally learned to not dwell on the past, as it's over and won't come back.

I stand up, brushing the debris from my pants as I avoid looking at him. "I don't think I'll be seeing you again, Jasper," I say quietly. "I think it's for the best."

It doesn't surprise me that he doesn't try to stop me or object. He has always been a coward when confronted, so it's nothing new. I'm glad that he lets me get this final piece of dignity he can give me.

As I enter the kitchen I see the darkened form of Edward looking out the window to the backyard. Wordlessly, I step into his arms and the comfort instantly sobers me up and relaxes me. It brings me back to the present, the future, reminding me that maybe my past is behind me. I look out the window and see nothing but the dark green of the grass and the clustered forest beyond.

Edward places a gentle kiss on the top of my head and I finally allow myself to relax.


End file.
